He doesn't have fancy clothes, fancy tricks that he can pull. He doesnt even have enough money in the bank to buy his love an engagement ring. sometimes he just lies awake at night, with nothing but the slow drone of the ceiling fan to listen to. But that is soon forgotten, and in creeps the solitude and stillness of an early spring night.
He lets his mind wander at night, sort of like exercising an overly energetic mind-dog; it leads, he follows. Sometimes he can't remember what thoughts or inspirational words are stumbled upon. Other times he can remember them as clear as daylight. Thoughts about love, death, life and lunacy play with his consiousness, entwining him into a snare of thought so obscure, so indescribable, that most humans would only dream about.
Other times, there is nothing. The sound of his regular breath is no comfort; It's not his breath he wants to hear. But what would he know about love? He's just a kid. Or so they say. But he feels like more. He feels something s